


Seaside

by whereismygarden



Series: Touch [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumpelstiltskin has a deal in mind, and needs Belle to come with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seaside

**Author's Note:**

> There's a little violence here: not enough to warrant the tag warning, but some. And I think this could have been a "G" as well, but "T" is safer.

“Belle!” Rumpelstiltskin was yelling again. She looked up irritably from the wash she was bent over. There was a scullery in the castle, but she preferred to scrub their clothes in the sunshine. It was a chore to drag the washboard and tub outside, but well worth it when she wasn’t breathing in the humid, soap-scented air of the scullery. _“Belle!”_ he shouted again. She straightened, wiped her wet hands on her apron, and walked inside, finding her pensive-faced master at his laboratory workbench, sifting powders.

                “Yes?” she said. He glanced over at her and set down the dish in his hands. His bench was covered in odd glassware, stone jars with incomprehensible labels, porcelain bowls filled with powders and herbs, mortars, pestles, small knives, and twisted metal instruments. She thought it like some dark wizard’s lair, then remembered that it _was_ , that he wasn’t just a reclusive lord, prone to tempers and fond of books. The isolation was going to make her forget the look of other people, make her as sharp and snide as he, if she wasn’t careful.

                “I need you on another deal,” he informed her, picking up his little bowl and pouring the powder within—a deep, vibrant red—into a leather pouch, then cinching it tight.

                “I’m not your apprentice, I’m your housekeeper,” she replied. “And I was in the middle of the wash.”

                “You’ll do as you’re told,” he said, voice quiet and warning. “I thought you wanted adventure, to see the world!” He said the last with his usual flourish and lilt. Belle pursed her lips and sat down on a stool, knowing he wouldn’t be argued out of this. She didn’t wish to, either, though whatever dark purpose he needed her for, she couldn’t fathom. He wouldn’t put her in danger, though, and she couldn’t imagine what danger they could ever be in: his power would keep them safe from any peril, this man who could needle kings and stop wars. It would be a nice change to leave the castle for a while.

                “Fine then. What do you need me for?” He smiled slightly and pulled her to her feet, setting the little bag down on his bench.

                “A distraction, of course!” he giggled, sounding pleased with himself. Belle didn’t like the sound of that.

                “What am I going to distract? And why?” He narrowed his eyes and pointed a warning finger.

                “Don’t ask questions that you don’t want the answers to, missy. You won’t come to any harm, as long as you do what I say.” He tucked a few little vials into his waistcoat and led her out of the room. They headed down the spiral stairs, Rumpelstiltskin taking her arm in his; he was getting into a playful mood. He stopped outside a room she had never entered before, and Belle heard the lock click open at his touch.

                At some point, it had been a bedroom, much like her own, but now it was filled with baskets of gold thread, glittering only faintly under heavy dust. Belle, though saddened at the sight of so many years’ worth of bad memories, squirreled away where no one could see, couldn’t fight back a twitch of her lip at all the gold. There was enough to bring the entire system of trade between the kingdoms to a gasping halt, enough to make cursed King Midas’s wealth seem a handful of pennies thrown into a furnace. _He_ must exercise caution, though, whereas Rumpelstiltskin could make as much as he pleased, leaving it all to be covered in dust. She prodded a bag and the cloth gave way to her finger, brittle after centuries, and some of the coils slipped out the side onto the dusty floor.

                “Gold isn’t the only treasure here, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin announced, striding over to a wardrobe in a corner and flinging it open. “I’ve got everything we need somewhere.” He pulled a dress from the wardrobe and held it towards Belle, who couldn’t stifle a small gasp at the sight. It was finer than the gown she’d arrived in, made of dark blue silk and cut with a square neckline, long, wide sleeves, and a paneled skirt and bodice.

                “Are you trading this?” she asked uncertainly. It seemed a little petty for him, who dealt in lies and magic and power. He paused, looking mystiflied.

                “I need you to put it on,” he said, “because the dress you’re in now won’t do.” Belle looked down at herself and scowled. There was nothing wrong with her dress, besides being a little damp from water splashing onto it during laundry.

                The dress, though she changed into it with ill grace, (Rumpelstiltskin standing outside her door and muttering about hurry, as if he had anything to say, with clothes he could change at a snap of his fingers) was beautiful indeed, and soft against her skin. It laced in the back, with a cord dyed the same dark watery blue as the dress. Belle pulled it tight, but couldn’t contort her arms to tie it. She yanked open her door to find her employer leaning against the wall opposite and tapping his black-nailed fingers against his thigh.

                “This dress ties in the back,” she announced, and he actually brightened a little, Belle noticed. Insufferable man. He drew a circle with his finger and she turned her back to him.

                “Don’t hunch your shoulders forward,” he chided, and she felt a gentle tug at her ribs as he adjusted the laces, then tied them near the top of her spine. His hands lingered for a brief moment on her back, then he withdrew them. “All secured,” he assured her, lightly, and offered his arm. “A trip to the ocean lies ahead of us.”

                Belle put her arm through his gingerly and braced herself for the eye-blink shift. She stumbled, suddenly standing on scrubby, stony ground. The air at the Dark Castle was cool, thin, mountain air, scented like snow and sage and pine. This place was salty, the flavors of the sea like a punch to her gut as a memory of home. Her home grew grapes and grain, while this place seemed isolated and overwarm, the air still under hot grey skies.

                To their left, Belle could see the land sloping down to a rock beach, and ahead, low cliffs rose craggily from the water. Brown and green hills rolled off to the right, decorated with the occasional scraggly tree.

                Belle immediately felt hot in her fine dress, and her neck and temples prickled with sweat. Every breath she took felt damp, and the muted thunder of the ocean was the only thing that broke the heavy silence. Rumpelstiltskin seemed perfectly at ease in his silk and leather layers, so while she stood clinging to his arm and feeling sweat collect under her arms, between her breasts, and down her spine, he simply stood very still, with his head tilted to one side, as if listening for something.

                “All right,” he whispered, putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her towards the shale beach. “Just walk on down there, if you please. Sing a song, look for shells…” he gestured extravagantly. Belle narrowed her eyes.

                “There aren’t any shells on that beach,” she said. He gave her an ungentle poke in the ribs, making her wince and scowl.

                “Don’t let anyone touch you,” he said, a serious note entering his voice. “That’s the only thing you need to worry about.” She could think of a whole new host of questions, such as “Who is down there to touch me?” and “Where are you going to be?” but when she turned to pose them, she was met with empty air and the silent, low hills. She hadn’t felt him go: the muggy air must have dulled her sensitivity to the tingly, prickly feeling of his magic.

                Sticky, uneasy, and aware that her silver shoes were absurd for this terrain, she picked her way over to where the stony grass gave way to grass-flecked stones, and then again to the beach.

~

                Rumpelstiltskin kept an awareness of his maid in the back of his mind, though this coast was messy with magic, and the faint flicker that was Belle scarcely registered among other things. Far out, in deeper water, a sea serpent lurked: young and small, but with a glow of magic that nearly blinded his deeper sight.

                His marks lived in the caves among the cliffs north of where he’d left Belle, and for the time being he sat on the tallest cliff’s edge, invisible, watching her distant figure pick its way over the rocks. She was distracted, pausing and bending over to look at something in the rocks.

                Well, better than looking nervous and suspicious. She could never keep any emotion in hand that curiosity couldn’t drive out—that was how she’d ended up with him, at least partially, he was sure. He looked down at the water and smiled to see five sleek figures cut through the surf, and then turn southwards, towards Belle.

                After a brief moment, he disappeared and reappeared inside the first cave, visible once more. He went along the ledges lining the walls, kicking aside fish bones and other, heavier scraps that he suspected were human. On firm ground, a cave like this would stink, but only the briny scent of the ocean and the faint odor of seaweed filled the cavern.

                He hopped from a ledge to a rock jutting up from the black water. It shifted under his weight—not natural, then, but a result of hauling and piling stones. He called light to his hands, cold tongues of white fire, and stretched up, illuminating the dripping walls. Nothing of interest there, beyond some skeins of bone-strung seaweed clumsily attached to the crevices—a homely little attempt at decoration, as if done by a child’s hand, assisted by her begrudging elders.

                Anything of value would be down under the waves, and he rolled one of his lights into a ball and dropped it into the water. It sank slowly, revealing wide, black spaces that were the entrances to other, submerged caves, fleeing fish, and little flashes of civilization: patterns daubed onto the walls with something that resisted the ocean’s wash, and a few faint glimmers of something metallic.

                “Demon in my house,” someone croaked behind him, and he turned slowly, to smile at the figure who floated, head and shoulders clear of the water. Her face was pallid, like a drowned man’s, though strikingly beautiful.

                “You’re still here,” he said slowly, pointing a finger at her, and, for safety’s sake, moving up to a higher ledge—rough under his feet, not water-washed.

                “Scared?” she said, baring white teeth in a pointy smile. She twirled a hand in mockery of him, droplets of water spraying from her ragged-nailed fingers. “Of little old me? With all my magic gone?”

                “Cautious,” he said. “How goes it, Aglaope?” She sniffed, and her body rose a little bit, probably a result of an irritated twitch of her tail.

                “Foolish, wild girls,” she said sourly. “Undisciplined, though we’re getting there.”

                “There’s no better teacher than you,” he replied. She ran her tongue over her teeth and narrowed her round eyes.

                “Don’t toy with me, Rumpelstiltskin. What do you want?”

                “Do you have that little golden seashell, by any chance? The rather _special_ one, that holds voices?” He crouched down and turned his ear towards Aglaope, though she wouldn’t appreciate his mockery.

                “Wondering if it’s strong enough to shut you up?” she snapped back, fussing at lank, greenish-black tresses and avoiding his eyes. He leapt back down and wrapped a hand round her throat, digging his claws in.

                “Don’t toy with _me. Tell me where it is,_ ” he hissed, practically spitting. “And you can live.” Aglaope only smiled mirthlessly and turned, gripping his arm with both hands and dragging him into the water. It was cold and black, and Aglaope’s knive-sharp teeth clamped down on his shoulder. He didn’t let go of her, but twisted his body away from her—he was no water-creature, but he was still her match in raw strength.

                They surfaced together, his hand drawing five deep gashes across her throat, which oozed black blood, and her spitting chunks of leather and silk. A reddish stain colored the water around them, which was being whipped into a froth by their struggle.

                “I’ll make a deal with you,” Aglaope gritted out, letting go of his arm to clutch at her lacerated neck. “I want you to spare my little students a wrath that’s coming for them soon.”

                “Fine,” he snapped, climbing back onto the rock and touching his shoulder, which was missing a chunk of flesh and grooved from her sharp teeth. “I’ll save them. Where is it?”

                “The octopus witch has it,” Aglaope snickered, an unpleasant sound in her further-ruined throat. “Good luck with _her_ , Master of Deals.” He spat into the water, irritated. The Sea Witch of the North was a dealer herself, and powerful in her territory. Best to move on with his debt to Aglaope, if this trip had been more or less fruitless.

                “Why are you so worried about your apprentices?” She smiled terribly, a fragment of meat stuck between two of her teeth and a cold gleam in her eye.

                “Because I’ve no doubt they’ve killed yours by now.”

~

                Belle stopped after a few wobbly steps over the beach and undid her shoes. The hem of her dress would drag the ground a little bit, but it was still better than the near guarantee of twisting her ankle if she continued on in her silver shoes. She left them on a rock and continued barefoot, charmed by a tidal pool nestled in a little hollow of three stones.

                It had a bit of sand in the bottom, and a few translucent crabs scuttled along the floor, throwing up little clouds of dust. Tiny silver fish flickered through the shallow water, alarmed by her shadow, and she decided not to disturb the water with a finger.

                There were other, deeper pools closer to the water’s edge, and she picked her way over to those, biting back a surprised yelp when a large grey crab scurried over her foot, then disappeared into the rocks. This hot, humid place held more life than first met the eye. Starfish and clams filled these pools, which must never go dry. Still wary of distressing the inhabitants or being bitten by them, Belle didn’t touch the water, though the dry, hot stones were unpleasant on her feet. She was close to where the little waves broke, though, and she could cool off there.

                Bending once more to tie her dress at her knees, she froze at the sound of a feminine giggle, then straightened hurriedly.

                “Hello?” she called softly. Another laugh sounded, coming from the ocean, and a girl’s head popped out of the surf. Belle’s eyes widened, and she stepped forward, then froze, remembering Rumpelstiltskin’s warning about not touching.

                “Hello,” the girl said excitedly, waving a white arm. Four more heads suddenly joined her, blinking and shading their eyes from the sun. Belle moved toward a tall rock at the beach’s edge, which cast a long shadow over the water, and the swimmers moved into the shade. She was perched above them, and sat down, deciding to ignore the fineness of the dress for once and letting her legs dangle.

                The girls all looked about Belle’s age or younger, their skin milky white and hair green-tinged, faces curious and lively. The first girl lounged on her back, and where Belle had hips and legs, she had a long scaled fin, which split into two at the end. It was a silvery grey color, like a fish’s, which perhaps also explained their pale complexion. If they weren’t naturally darker, and spent their time deep under the waves, there would be no way for them to darken, as she did under the sun. Belle liked that explanation, especially since it went a ways towards explaining why they circled in the shade of the rock, though the sunlight was so filtered by the grey clouds it scarcely cast a shadow at all. They wore no clothes beyond necklaces of knotted seaweed and shark’s teeth, breasts and stomachs shockingly bare to Belle’s eyes. She blushed, though she certainly knew what breasts looked like, and there was no reason for her to assume that bare skin would be scandalous in every culture.

                “What’s your name?” one of them called to her, in a voice like water rushing over stones and sand. It was beautiful, soothing.

                “Belle,” she replied. They all giggled, though not unkindly, and tried it out, making it roll over their tongues melodiously. Belle shifted and leaned over them. “I hope you don’t mind, but can I ask if you’re merfolk?” She hadn’t done much reading about them: she had come across a few books mentioning them in Rumpelstiltskin’s library, but she thought these girls were less human-looking than the tomes described. Their eyes were round and they blinked as snakes did, filmy white skin sliding sideways across the orbs and then back. Their pale skin had the dull look of sharkskin, as though it, too, would be file-rough if touched the wrong way.

                The boldest of them laughed, flicking water at Belle with her tail.

                “Nearly,” she said. “We live down here, we can show you. If you want to learn.” The idea was tempting: to go and look at another way of life, one that wasn’t even human. She could make her own book of notes and put it in the library. She bit her lip, remembering Rumpelstiltskin was somewhere near, expecting her to… do something. She felt a bit fuzzy on details, but it probably didn’t involve her swimming off with mermaids.

                “I’d love to, but I’ve got obligations here,” she managed to say. Their leader pouted and sighed, and somehow the sound was the softest Belle could recall hearing.

                “Belle, it would only be for a few minutes. We can ensure your safety underwater. Won’t your master want you to learn as much as you can?” Belle frowned: something about her words didn’t sit right. She stood up, shaking her head and gulping in as much of the warm air as she could. Her head felt a little less fuzzy with movement.

                “How would you know I’m here with my master?” she asked, suspicion growing, and Rumpelstiltskin’s warning returned to mind.

                “Belle,” the first one said. “I’m Ligeia. I think we may have done this wrong. Why don’t we just sit and talk, and we can all get to know each other.” That was more reasonable, and she settled back onto the stone. He had said to be a distraction, after all, and she had their attention. She couldn’t do more without further instruction from him.

                The hot sun felt more soothing, now that she was acclimated to it, and the mermaids below her occasionally splashed with their tails, causing sprays of water to sprinkle her from head to foot. The blue dress, though still hot and tight at the bodice, was cool and loose around her arms and legs. Ligeia seemed most interested in talking to her, while the other four were content to chase each other and dart about through the surf. Their chatter and movements were mesmerizing, though, a happy, sleepy backdrop to her discussion with Ligeia.

                “They’re like my little sisters,” the mermaid explained. “We all live together.” Belle nodded. She had never had a sister, only the other girls around the castle.

                “How often do you come up to the air?” she asked. “Doesn’t it hurt your eyes?” Her own eyes felt heavy, and she thought that maybe the sun had taken more out of her than she suspected: that, plus laundry this morning.

                “Sometimes,” the other girl said. “I think to learn about humans, though. You’re similar to us, but different. Your hair…” she trailed off, reaching a hand towards Belle, who touched her brown curls self-consciously.

                “What about it?”

                “It looks so hard and crunchy. Does it hurt your head?” Belle laughed, and the other girl smiled ruefully.

                “No, it’s soft. It’s just dry.” Ligeia shook her head vigorously, her own dripping locks sticking to the sides of her face and neck.

                “Ick, no thanks,” she said, wrinkling her delicate nose. Belle smiled and pulled her hair over her head.

                “No, here, you can feel it. It’s soft, I promise!” Ligeia wavered.

                “Come down into the water, I can’t climb up to you,” she requested, indicating her long fin. Belle turned so that she hung from the rock, and dropped, her dress fluttering up only a little before she landed in shallow water, stumbling over the rocks she landed on. The water was cold, for such a hot, sunny place, and she ended up falling to her knees, ankle throbbing.

                “Oh, ow!” she cried, clutching at her foot and trying to struggle back upright. The water her came up to her waist, and her fine silk dress was soaked through with seawater. Rumpelstiltskin wouldn’t be pleased. Not about that, and not about… something else that she couldn’t quite remember.

                Ligeia’s cold hand closed around her wrist.

                _Don’t let anyone touch you_.

                Belle was yanked off her feet in a second, the other girl’s fin knocking into the back of her knees as Ligeia pulled her away from the shore, wrapping her other arm around Belle’s chest, pressing her face against Belle’s hair.

                “Very soft,” she cooed, and her beautiful voice had a nasty undertone now. Belle thrashed, terrified, as the shore was disappearing quickly, and the other four girls circled like sharks, sniggering and cresting occasionally to leer at Belle.

                “Let go of me!” she shouted, panicked—a small, detached part of her brain knowing she would have difficulty swimming back to shore—and bit Ligeia’s wrist, tasting salty, fishy blood.

                “Stupid earthcrawler,” the other growled, shifting her grip to Belle’s hair and plunging down. She barely had a chance to draw a water-clouded breath before they were moving through cold blue water, and the five of them surrounded her. She could only see them as silhouettes, dark shapes, with their hair fanning out above them and arms wide.

                They moved in unison, at her, and she cried out, bubbles and little sound escaping her at the sharp, stabbing pains in her shoulder, hip, back, and legs. One of her sleeves ripped, and she inhaled water, trying to scream. The agony in her throat and lungs was far worse than the pain in the rest of her body, and every kick of her legs was countered by an easy tug downward by one of the mermaids, till they surrounded her, clinging like wolves bringing down an elk.

                Her vision was fuzzing—from terror, blood loss, or asphyxiation, she didn’t know and couldn’t think—when the press of bodies around her lessened. A heavy arm, clothed in fabric, wrapped around her waist and pressed her against something distinctly non-marine.

~

                Rumpelstiltskin was confused for a brief second—he hadn’t had an apprentice since he’d so carefully molded Cora’s kind-hearted daughter into a different kind of monster from her mother, but no less terrible. Then he took Aglaope’s meaning and wondered if he should kill her now, try and find the heart she might possess inside her dying body, but that would take time. He closed him eyes and cast out his consciousness like a net, searching for the spark that was Belle. The spark he had let himself forget to keep in mind.

                The magic along this coast was nearly blinding, but it took only a few seconds to find the feeble white light that was Belle, surrounded by five smoky black blurs. Aglaope’s thrice-cursed little bitches, no doubt. They were in the water, and he didn’t plan, simply left the cave and _followed_ , appearing underwater, just above Belle and Aglaope’s girls. The water was bloody, Belle’s pale face unseeing and terrified, but it took only a second to tear two of the girls off her. He felt bone snap under his fingers and relished it. He wanted to kill them, slowly, but he had sworn to spare them wrath, and a few broken bones was all he had time for.

                Belle didn’t even struggle when he pulled her close to him, her eyes half-closed and white. He sent a painful shock to the panicky, fluttering sirens as they vanished, his mind fixing on the Dark Castle and yanking them straight there.

                He nearly fell on top of her, water pouring off both of them: he slipped on the wet stone floor of the great hall, boots scrabbling for purchase. Belle hung limply in his arms, dripping blood, and her chest didn’t move. He wrapped his arms around her middle and jerked up and in sharply, expelling the water from her lungs. To his immense relief, she sputtered, jerked a little, and he sank to sit on the floor, leaning her against him and stopping her bleeding with a thought. He couldn’t unwrap his arms from her, for some reason, and couldn’t keep from pressing his face into the back of her head.

                She was soaked, no doubt freezing, but for the moment he simply clutched her close and felt the welcome thud of her heart beating and her chest rising and falling with her shuddery breaths. She shifted, pushed her head against his chest, and he lay back, using a small, silent spell to dry them both. Being dry and half-lying on top of him wasn’t nearly as soporific to Belle as it was to him, apparently, because she struggled into a sitting position and braced herself on weak arms, glaring and wincing.

                “Rumpelstiltskin, you complete idiot bastard!”

~

                At first, Belle wanted to simply collapse into sleep. Her wounds ached terribly, but with the pain of old injury, not bleeding gashes. The floor wasn’t comfortable, but Rumpelstiltskin’s torso was more accommodating than she’d expected, and his arms held her securely against him. He was half-asleep, no doubt worn-out from nearly getting her killed, then saving her. It would be easy to fall asleep in his arms, but she would wake up cold, uncomfortable, and with the line between them blurred more than was reasonable.

                So she sat up and snapped at him. He started to full alertness, blinking rapidly, then narrowed his eyes and _really_ looked at her, not liking what he saw. A hesitant hand touched her shoulder, pushed aside shredded silk, and she glanced down at herself to see a line of deep scratches.

                “No damage to the muscle,” he murmured, and passed his hand over the wounds. An unpleasant shiver ran through her, but the pain eased somewhat. “You’re injured elsewhere.”

                “No thanks to you!” she spat. “You could have just told me what I was dealing with!” His care with her now, his sudden rescue, were at odds with the way he had tossed her into harm’s way, and she was baffled, and a little hurt. He looked away, a little guilt stealing over his face.

                “I overestimated your ability to resist them. I expect they appealed to some part of you I never really considered.” He licked his lips nervously. “I need you to turn so I can look at your back.” She shifted slowly, letting his hands guide her.

                “What _were_ they?” she asked, wondering if she should have guessed. “Mermaids?” He held his hand out to the side and pair of scissors appeared in his palm, with a little puff of purple smoke. It took him three snips, by her count, to cut away a good portion of the back of her dress.

                “Sirens,” he said. “One of them took a chunk out of you. I could regrow the flesh, with magic, but there would be some price to pay, later. If I only heal it, all you’ll suffer is a scar.” Belle didn’t like the idea of having a depression in her back, but what did it matter? She was here, forever: her beauty mattered to no one, now. And she had something far more pressing on her mind.

                “Sirens?” She twisted her head round to glare at him. “You let me just walk into them without any warning, any protection, so I could _distract_ them?” She was appalled to discover a few tears collecting in her eyes. “I could have _died_.” He sniffed at her, putting his hands over the marks on her hip and back and healing them. Only her leg throbbed, now, and her head, but _that_ had nothing to do with injury.

                “I’ve dealt with them before: never as a human being. I was mistaken, I suppose, when I thought they only hunted men, that their charm wouldn’t affect you. I thought that a warning not to touch would be enough. They’re supposed to be vain: I thought you would be a sufficient distraction on that end.”

                “I expect the books say that because men only ever think of themselves.” That was not true, not all the time, but she felt justified throwing the words at him, when he’d left her to die. He quirked a lip, though, and pulled her skirt delicately to her knees, brushing at the deep scratches in her calf. “What would they have done to me?” He frowned deeply, magic shimmering around his hand, and looked her in the eyes suddenly.

                “Eaten you.” He leaned forward, pulling aside part of his shirt and vest to display a bloody patch of missing flesh in his shoulder. “Even I’m not too tough for them,” he said, and she couldn’t help but giggle helplessly, and put her hand over his.

                “You’re not forgiven yet,” she said, and he shrugged, as if he didn’t care. She was sure he did, a little bit, though he had no reason to and it gratified her for no reason of her own.  He helped her to unsteady feet, one hand grasping hers, the other at her waist.

                “I’m just glad you’re alive,” he pronounced. “After all, who would do my laundry if you weren’t around?”

                She spent the rest of the day reading, though, feet tucked up under her and leaning forward to ease the stinging of her back. Rumpelstiltskin clattered around in his workroom, and she heard something smashing more than once. He emerged for dinner after the simple potatoes and greens she had cooked had cooled on his plate, and said nothing, only ate them standing. Then he walked carefully over to her, tension making his body stiff, and put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing a little.

                “I shouldn’t have made you do that. My apologies.” He nearly choked on the words, and she could _hear_ the struggle it took to keep the mocking lilt from his tone. He didn’t quite succeed, but he sat down on the arm of her chair and leaned against the back, keeping his hand on her shoulder for long minutes. When she dared glance over at him, he had his eyes closed and was frowning still, but the line of his shoulders was more relaxed.

                When she tired, she gently shook him off and eased him into the chair, ignoring his sleepy questions and clumsily pulling a blanket over him. Whatever his quest had been, it had been fruitless (she didn’t much care about that, because she needed to remember that he was a dark sorcerer), and the day or the magic had worn him out.

                She fell asleep in her own bed, the ruined dress tossed on the floor where she’d changed from it, thinking that though her mattress and blankets were soft, there was something—something good—to be said about falling unconscious upon her prone employer. Although she reminded herself sternly that there were many bad things to be said as well, she almost regretted that she had not simply let them collapse on the floor, to sleep and wake together.


End file.
